Chapter Text
"You are the kindest thing
that ever happened to me,
even if that's not how our tale will be told." –Nikita Gill
September 26th , 1997, Raccoon City Police Department
"Name, please?"
"Jill Valentine. I have an interview at 8 a.m. with Albert Wesker," the 23-year-old woman responded before she pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear.
The receptionist, who sat behind a Lexan safety shield in the conjoined western office, peeked up at Jill from the tiny hole and smiled. The older woman glanced down at her old antique clock on her desk before she began to check her books with a muffled rustle of pages.
"You're early," the receptionist answered with a note of approval. The name plaque below the glass read Barbara Finch.
"Yes, ma'am. I'll be happy to wait in the lobby, but I just wanted him to know I had arrived." Jill glanced up when the door on the right opened and a bleary-eyed officer in uniform stepped out from the wooden divider.
The coffee mug was wafting steam into the air when his gaze met hers. The faint notes of the Latin American brew hit her nose when he passed, and she momentarily wondered if there was a breakroom she could find somewhere tucked into the unorthodox precinct.
"Go right ahead and take a seat, I'll inform Captain Wesker of your arrival." Barbara called out when the scribbles of her pen paused, and the click of her phone receiver filled the space.
Jill bid her gratitude and turned toward the seats within the reception room. Her grey-blue eyes were rising as she considered the design of the lobby outside of the shuttered doorway.
From the moment she had entered the small town, there had been an element of charm that was new to her traveler's eyes. The entire city was a mixture of old history smattered with the upcoming surge of its growing population.
Prior to her long journey on the road, she had only been able to do a bit of studying on the local library's computers before her inevitable departure.
The police station itself had surprised her with its standing three-story height. Upon entry, Jill took in the polished floors, towering pillars, ornate detailing, and a vast church-like ceiling that had her neck craning back to take in the third-floor balustrades. The gothic styled statues in the main hall had greeted her first and the marble only seemed to beckon her further within.
With her hands pushed into the dark blue pantsuit pockets, Jill caught her smartly dressed appearance in the receptionist's glass barrier with the reflection of the morning sun gleaming off the surface.
The well-tailored pantsuit had been one of the first outfits she had purchased once she had been discharged from the U.S. Army. Hungry for pursuits beyond the fatigues of unconventional warfare, Jill had begun to set her sights on a few different local operations. However, the call she had received only two days ago had caught her attention the most.
Even in her young service history, Jill understood when specific opportunities whispered and when others were simple enough to turn down. The call from the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team captain had rung in her mind for hours after.
Blindly searching for the meaning of her future, Jill had felt like a passenger up until that phone call.
The opening of the door beyond the diver signaled a new arrival and Jill turned her head when the incoming footsteps echoed in the small space before a man emerged with a casual stroll.
"Ms. Valentine?" The cultured drawl of his deep voice seemed to fill the room.
Jill's keen eyes caught on the petite receptionist whose chair squeaked with her movement on her right. The older woman had decidedly turned away from the glass and was now positioned away. Jill would have dismissed it as normal if it wasn't for the visible, white-knuckled grip Barbara was holding around her pen on the counter.
Details were what Jill specialized in. One didn't break into homes or into enemy territories without noticing even the most subtle differences in a room. Details had helped her replace items that had been set with care, and those details mattered even more when she considered the countdown of detonators in active war zones.
Jill's eyes slid over to the blonde man, and she found his calculating demeanor challenging hers behind black sunglasses.
"Yes, sir," she finally answered before stepping forward to lift her hand. "Thank you for seeing me today."
His hand was firm around hers when they shook but he was curt when he said, "If you'll follow me, we'll conduct the interview in my office."
He was making his way back through the way he had emerged, and Jill followed with her heels clacking loudly through the hall behind him.
The stroll through the several halls before the staircase was quiet, and Jill felt her nerves gnawing at her while she considered the man from behind. He was older than her, maybe in his early thirties. His slim physique spoke to the trim familiarity Jill knew from the military; not much bulk muscle, but sleek in the regard proposed for quick strikes.
His short blond hair was slicked back with gel and not one hair was out of place that she could see. His simple black buttoned shirt was carefully tucked into his slacks, and both were ironed meticulously. The horizontal, double-shoulder holster crisscrossed over a broad back and showcased well maintained weapons. In all, it gave Jill the distinct impression that this was a man who also loitered on details as she did.
Maybe even more than her.
"The drive through your mountains was nice," she commented as they began to climb the stairs. "Not used to all the green myself—"
"Chit-chat won't be necessary," he interrupted her while he continued to the last door on the second-floor hall. "I don't expect this will take long."
Jill closed her mouth and found herself glaring at the back of his head. She said nothing more when they stepped up to the door with the S.T.A.R.S. sign hanging above.
She had driven over 22 hours to make it here for this meeting and that was because the man leading her around didn't believe in phone interviews. He hadn't even offered to pay for expenses but even at the absurdity of it all, Jill had thrown her clothes into her suitcase, packed up her aging Toyota Forerunner, and booked it to the highway to be able to make it with hours to spare.
On the phone, when she asked how he had found her name, he had glossed over the details with the current need of Raccoon City.
Instead of being affronted, Jill had found herself tumbling further into the information he provided.
For the first time in the sleepy town's history, murders had begun to plague the population's seemingly abundant reign of order. With a murder rate of about 1.23 per 100,000 people, the tenth lowest in the United States, Raccoon City had previously held a total of 2 homicides in its four-year history; 2 homicides from 1992 to 1996, Jill could hardly believe it.
However, there were two types of murders taking place in the Arklay county lines. Bodies that had been found within the city limits were what appeared to be homicide cases, but a separate list of bodies had started to appear sporadically in the surrounding mountain trails of the mid-western town. What was assumed as wildlife attacks was now being treated as additional murders due to details that the man on the phone had decided not to outwardly share.
Two positions were looking to be filled for the Raccoon City Special Tactics and Rescue Service. One for the Alpha team and one for the Bravo team. The man before her, Captain Albert Wesker, had presumably scouted her for the Alpha team he was currently in charge of.
Little information could be gathered in a short amount of time, but from what Jill did find, the S.T.A.R.S. had an impressive array of former military veterans working for them. Their division had been noted to work on special crimes investigations, hostage scenarios, and assisting the local police department in violent crime cases when necessary.
On her drive from Wyoming, Jill had stared out at her rolling landscape while she considered the interview further. Captain Wesker wasn't much of a conversationalist on the phone, in fact, he had been very deadpanned and direct but something about the cases stirred in Jill's gut.
She'd been released from the military only six months before and had taken to the quiet setting in her purchased home out in Buffalo, Wyoming. The quiet was a refuge, but it was a refuge that began to stagnate in only the first month. She hadn't known what she was going to do once she was released from service but there had been a few offers from the military scouts already. All offers she had turned down and continued her days working on the horse ranch for an ageing couple.
Horses had been her mother's deal and when Jill really—
"Captain Wesker," a nervous voice interrupted Jill's inner musings when she stepped into the larger outer office of the squad room.
A man in a yellow vest was walking over toward the captain. In his hands was a rumpled report, and even Jill noticed the man's twitching gaze while he approached.
"I have—" the man in the yellow vest began again when Captain Wesker's attention turned toward him.
"Can this wait, Vickers?" A gloved hand was gestured back toward Jill. "I have a prior engagement."
"Yes, sir," the man stumbled over his words and kept his eyes low. "I'll put it on the desk for you."
"Very good." Captain Wesker had turned away and his bored tone was similar to the one Jill had heard on the phone. "This way, Ms. Valentine."
The man—Vickers—turned his eyes briefly to Jill and the pained smile he gave her didn't give her much hope for this interview.
First the receptionist, and now one of his subordinates.
Squaring her shoulders, Jill Valentine decided then and there that she wasn't going to be intimidated by this man. Whether she obtained the job or not, she hadn't driven 22 hours to fumble her opportunities now.
Shutting the door to the small but neat office, Jill smoothed down her pantsuit and turned to find the captain settling behind his desk. When he silently gestured for her to sit in one of two chairs, she did so and pulled out her notepad and pen from the satchel she had brought.
His hand lifted, and the sunglasses he wore previously were pulled from his face to reveal the sharp blue eyes beneath.
"Looking to make your own assessment?" It was the first note of something other than disinterest in the man's voice and Jill was purposeful when her eyes slid toward his.
"I'm looking to not miss a thing, sir." The formality of addressing a superior was natural to her and easier to grab his attention with.
"Very well." He pulled a file from his desk and spread it out before him. "Let's begin. Can you tell me about your training and background with the military?"
His voice was cultured and gave way to a very formal way of speaking. The deep sound of it wrapped around the ordinary words and delivered them with interest.
"United States Army Special Forces. Specialist rank achieved," Jill replied and unconsciously straightened in her chair.
"A Green Beret; your Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery score was one of the highest received in quite a while but your experience in the field is lacking." Captain Wesker commented slowly before he looked up from her paperwork again.
"That's true, it was still my first deployment," Jill agreed. "I was, however, still scouted and trained for the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta."
"That detachment doesn't train women," he noted with an edge to his tone.
"I was told I was the first," she met that stare. "Did you serve, sir?"
"What was your most challenging investigation in your experience with the service?" he asked, ignoring her counter question.
"Not at liberty to discuss the most challenging." She leaned forward slightly while she quickly noted the unusual pace of his line of questioning. "But I think you knew that."
A small tug existed only for a moment at the corner of his mouth before he continued, "What qualities do you have that are helpful for this career field?"
"Bomb disposal, B & E specialization, unconventional warfare, foreign internal defense, special reconnaissance, counterterrorism, information operations, counterproliferation of weapons of mass destruction, and security force assistance—"
"What are your hobbies and interests outside of work and are you currently married?" Captain Wesker interrupted her.
Jill set her jaw and tilted her head slightly at the man before she said, "What is it, precisely, you're looking for, captain?"
"You're…" he glanced down at his paperwork once more before he continued, "23 years old, fresh out of the military, relocated to a different state—again—and have two classified files in your personal profile for the U.S. Army. That category usually houses infractions for altercations and yet you came highly recommended from your previous commanding officer." He paused his clipped tone and let the paper fall from his fingertips before he shut her file. "What I'm looking for, Ms. Valentine, is someone dedicated, experienced, and has the level-headed ability to perform this job without the concern that they'll quit when things get tough."
"All of which you could have found out over the phone," Jill set her pen down and cared very little about her still blank page.
"Not all of it," he replied, watching her hand fiddle with the pen before he met her gaze once more.
With her hand stilling, Jill recognized the two of them over this desk weren't so different on a surface level. With her assumptions earlier, she acknowledged the level of the detail the man before her displayed even when he was distracting her with his sharp questions and allotting barely any time to gain footing in any answer.
From his sharply dressed appearance to the words he chose to use, Albert Wesker was a blade in the dark. Whether she anticipated him or not, he appeared to have made the necessary slices.
"I think I have all I need. I'll be in contact with you, Ms. Valentine."
Jill blinked once at the abrupt dismissal before she nodded and began to pack up her pad and pen. When she stood, she didn't shy away from his look as she reached her hand over his desk.
When his hand clasped hers, she squeezed and said, "Thank you for your time. I wonder, if I may ask, are the bodies of the women you're finding between the ages of 18 and 22?"
Wesker's brow furrowed, and Jill felt when his hand squeezed a little tighter in the shake. She pulled her hand from his first.
"That's not—" He began.
She cut him off this time, "That won't be necessary then. I suppose it doesn't matter at this point. Enjoy your afternoon, sir."
Shutting the door to the office, Jill glanced over to see a new man sitting at the desk directly in front of the squad room's mid-point. He appeared to be around her age, and his dirty boots were propped up on the desk while he stared at his computer screen.
At the sound of Wesker's closing door, the man looked up and blinked in his seat when he seemed to realize she wasn't who he had expected.
Jill's eyes glanced up at the jacket that was hanging beside his desk. Her attention caught the Air Force symbol.
"Oof," the man greeted with a friendly smile. "I know that look."
"One team, one mission, right?" Jill retorted the old Air Force motto before she gave a two fingered salute and turned for the door.
The man's chuckle behind her was the only good thing about this interview, and Jill decided any win would be a win after this day.
A glance down at her watch told her she had lasted 8 minutes in the interview. She decided then that she'd have a shot for every minute she had experienced the horrible demeanor of the man back in the office.
Later in the evening, in a bar off of Fisson Street, Jill was on her fifth shot when she saw the newest attempt slide onto the bar stool next to her. Her eyes were cast upwards toward the local football game when she watched him turn toward her from the corner of her eye.
"Not interested," she said with a wave of her hand before the guy could even start his pitch.
Raccoon City certainly didn't have a confidence problem but at least most of their male population could take a hint quickly enough. Three conversations had already been attempted but Jill admittedly still wasn't drunk enough to entertain the cat and mouse game that came with the nightlife.
"Really?" That recognizable drawl reached her ears. "I thought you might be, actually."
Jill blew out a sigh and lowered her chin from the tilt she'd had it in while she stared up at the tv screen. She glanced to her left and took in the stern gaze of Captain Albert Wesker beside her. The S.T.A.R.S. badge hooked onto his belt caught in the overhead lighting.
"How did you even find me here?" Was she slurring yet? It was hard for Jill to tell with the tempo of the music and the ongoing buzz rolling through her system.
"When the hotel said they hadn't seen you in a few hours, I had to do a little detective work," he continued with some irritation leaking through his heightened tone. "You didn't drive here, did you?"
Jill squinted at him slightly before she turned back in her seat, popped one of the pretzels in her mouth, and said, "What can I do for you, captain?"
His hand was wrapping around her bare bicep when he stood, and Jill jolted from the contact. His head turned to stare down at her and she found her teeth gritting in the expectation in his expression. She slid from her bar stool, pulled a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from her pocket, and slapped it down on the counter for the bar keep.
The middle-aged bartender was staring her way already, but his eyes were decidedly on the man beside her. When Jill glanced back up at Captain Wesker, she watched him give the bartender an almost imperceptible nod.
"You sold me out!" Jill accused the barkeep.
The bartender grabbed her twenty and grinned unabashedly before he said, "Small town rules, sweetheart. I don't decline the captain here information when he asks."
Jill was cursing under her breath when Captain Wesker led her toward the back entrance. The September air was cool on her sweating skin.
"How soon can you relocate here?" Captain Wesker asked when the door to the bar shut with a metal clank.
"Not sure," Jill straightened up and pulled her arm from his gloved grip. "Don't quite have a reason to do so yet."
"Valentine," he was stepping closer to her now and Jill's alcohol-soaked brain gave her more confidence under his withering stare. "I have women dying on my streets, no primary suspects, and haven't released any details about the victims yet but you knew the age range. So, let's be frank, I'm offering you the job, and I want to know how soon you can be available to work."
"You're offering me the job?" she asked incredulously.
"How much did you have to drink?" he threw back with the frown still on his face.
"Not enough to make me entertain the idea that our interview went well," Jill countered.
Captain Wesker considered her for a moment. Even from behind those odd sunglasses, she somehow felt when his eyes dropped down to her simple blue tank top, jeans, and boots she had thrown on after their meeting.
Terrible interview or not, she had chosen not to sully that prized pantsuit with alcohol.
"You did just fine," he answered when his head tilted slightly back up toward hers.
"I'm sure," Jill sighed and swept her hair over her shoulders. He was pulling off the sunglasses again, and his blue eyes followed her action while she spoke. "Look, Captain Wesker, I'm afraid this isn't an appropriate conversation until I see an offer letter. We haven't even discussed compensation for possibly moving my entire life to Michigan."
Captain Wesker glanced over his shoulder down toward where the alley let out to the street.
"Where's your hotel? I'll walk you back." He turned back to her.
"That's not necessary," she said, pushing past him now.
When he fell into step beside her, Jill thought this may be telling for her future. As she wasn't technically his subordinate yet, she'd have to make do with how many more times she could brush him off.
"I think," he said evenly beside her. "You'll find it is quite necessary. I shouldn't need to remind you of the age range you're in for whomever is committing these murders."
Jill let an uncharacteristic snort fly before she turned her attention toward him.
"You're not a man people say 'no' to a lot, are you?" she asked with her liquid courage singing. She'd hate herself in the morning for all of this.
Captain Wesker did something odd then. Odd even for the amount of time she had known him—which was about 15 minutes altogether if she thought about it.
His lips curved up into a smirk and it changed his entire face. Albert Wesker stared at her with a look of amusement while he slid a hand into his pants pocket and observed her shocked expression.
Jill found her steps pausing on the sidewalk and he paused with her while they stared at one another.
He was easily somewhere in the ballpark of 6'3" which put him nearly a foot taller than her. His features were sharp, and she wouldn't deny how cruelly attractive he was with his strong jaw, aristocratic straight nose, high cheekbones, and calculating eyes. It had been something she had decided to ignore given how absolutely poor his social skills had been.
However, with the city's lights playing over his face and the look he bid her then, Jill found herself truly acknowledging that fact.
Easy now, alcohol is not your friend here.
Even her subconscious was aware of how much she'd be hating these reactions tomorrow.
Thankfully her hotel wasn't far from the bar she had walked to. She was also thankful for the silence on their walk and when Captain Wesker was satisfied to watch her approach the lobby instead of leading her to the room itself.
"Valentine," he called when she had the lobby door propped open.
She glanced back at him with her hair falling from its position behind her ear.
"Be in my office at 0700 tomorrow. We'll go over your offer letter and get you set up for the move."
"Set up?" Jill questioned tightly.
"Someone will need to go pack up your things for you. You'll be too busy with the academy courses," the Alpha team captain responded easily as he watched her from his position on the sidewalk.
"The academy courses?" She felt like a parrot repeating its' master now, but the more he spoke the more she was starting to regret not forcing this conversation to wait until morning.
"You didn't think you'd just be up and working the streets did you? We'll need to teach you standard procedures and once you pass the test, you can operate alone." The hint of that smirk was rising again.
The probationary status she understood but then a thought struck her.
"Who's going to supervise my field operations?" The lobby door slid from her fingers and clicked closed in front of her while she stared.
Captain Wesker stepped toward her now, and the lighting from the hotel valet overhang accentuated his strong features.
"I will be," he answered with another flickering look of irritation. "You and I will be operating side by side for the next six months."
"Alright," Jill said with a deep breath while she attempted to resolve her sloppy encounter with the man. "That is, if I accept the offer."
"That is," Albert Wesker had a way of talking slowly and he did so now as he repeated her words back to her. "If you accept the offer. See you tomorrow, Valentine."
Jill stared after the man's departure and found her feet carrying her to the sidewalk to watch as he continued down the street. The cars passing highlighted his tall retreating form until he turned down to the next street and was finally gone.
Her hands were lifting to rub her arms when she let out the deep breath she had been holding back since he had announced himself on that bar stool. He had a dominating presence about him; one that seemed to take up its own space no matter where he was. It was something Jill had believed herself to have gotten used to in her service history, but his presence was decidedly different.
And yet she found herself wanting to rise to it for both encounters so far.
With her eyes turning to the surrounding streets, Jill stood quietly as she observed the night life of Raccoon City twist and turn on the Friday night around her. Her hotel was near the center of downtown and plenty of groups and couples were walking through the passing shops and nearby bars.
The cool fall breeze of Michigan hurled itself through the streets again and it caused the flyers on one of the telephone poles to ripple loudly next to her.
"23 years old, fresh out of the military, relocated to a different state—again—and have two classified files in your personal profile for the U.S. Army." He had said in her earlier interview. The quote had bobbled around her mind as she had sat in that bar.
He had looked into her background as she thought he would as a possible employer, but he'd also noted her changing addresses.
Jill hadn't stayed in many places for too long. Part of that was due to the military and prior to that had been because of her father's job. She could understand his concern about her lack of roots but as she considered it now, she also wondered if Racoon City was really where she wanted to stay.
She glanced back down toward the street where Captain Wesker had disappeared and huffed a breath.
The cases were interesting enough given the town itself, but she wondered what the half-life would be on studying under a man like Albert Wesker.
Knowing she had trained under harder men, Jill turned back for her hotel and decided that she would try for six months. She'd give it that at least and see what difference she could really make.
"Keep up the pace, Valentine!" Marvin Branagh shouted from his position on the sidelines of the training field located near Park Street the next morning.
With a leap, Jill grunted in response as she ducked under the obstacle course's bars. Sweat was running down her temples and her shoulder length, brown hair was clinging to the back of her neck and into her face but still she did not slow, she did not falter, and she did not stop.
The physical agility test for the R.P.D. was cakewalk in consideration to what she had completed previously, but Jill was never one to slack in any test she took. She had completed the 32-foot body drag, raced up the 6-foot chain link fence climb, been nimble for the 6-foot solid wall climb, breezed the 500-yard sprint, and smashed through the 1.5-mile run.
Currently, her last portion was the timed 99-yard obstacle course that had been set up for the new recruits. Each recruit had been given a 10lb vest to wear as they ran it. The additional weight would account for possible equipment carried and of course stimulate exhaustion faster.
She had just reached the nets when her muscles began to bark in the delicious way that always seemed to wake her up.
The last portion of the course was a series of pylons that would bring Jill right back in front of Lieutenant Branagh and in front of the other remaining recruits. Set in a harsh zig zagging series of hopping turns, she brought her clenched hands up on each side of her chest and centered her balance while she leaned into the bounding leap required around every pylon.
"Time!" The lieutenant shouted when Jill landed around the last one.
A series of cheers erupted from the other recruits Jill had been training with over the course of the last three hours.
"Did I pass?" Jill panted out while she braced her hands on her knees.
"Did I pass?" Kevin Ryman mocked good naturedly beside Marvin. His arms were crossed over his chest as he threw her a snarky look from beneath his stylishly cut hair. "I wish you would have gone last, Valentine. Save the rest of us some goddamn dignity."
"If you cut your hair, you may be able to knock off some wind resistance," Jill threw back as she straightened her spine. "Then again, with your mouth always open like that, you're going to have some drag regardless."
They were both laughing when Kevin grabbed her shoulder and pushed her playfully.
"I think it's safe to say," Marvin's slightly amused voice cut in through the jeering. "You passed. Get cleaned up; you're going to need to head to the classes next."
"Don't forget us when you're up there with all of the other cool kids," Wes Drucker called beside Kevin when Jill passed by to grab her towel.
"You'll always be close to my heart, Drucker. Just remember, if you don't pass, we always appreciate a smooth voice in dispatch." Jill tossed over her shoulder with a wink.
The laughter was fading behind her when Jill clutched her paperwork and made her way back toward her car to return to the precinct for instruction.
Like Captain Wesker had asked, she had returned to his office the next morning at 6:45 a.m. and sat out in the chair in the squad room while waiting for him to enter the office. Most of the other officers didn't arrive until 7:30 a.m., so when she breezed through the front doors at 6:40 a.m., Barbara Finch had given her a surprised look.
"Morning, Ms. Finch!" she had called over her shoulder.
The older woman had sputtered out her morning greeting with a pleased look on her face.
Dressed practically in her cargo pants, a simple form-fitting, blue polo shirt, and a gym bag strap across her shoulders, Jill acknowledged that she hadn't accepted the offer yet, but when she had woken up that morning, the energy singing through her system let her know she would be no matter what.
Jill Valentine had woken up and had been excited about the day. It was something that had been missing for the last six months.
The other S.T.A.R.S. members weren't in the office this early, but the dim yellow light shining from behind the glass of the captain's office made her wonder if he was already inside. Deciding to take a seat, she waited patiently while she read one of the police academy pamphlets she had picked out in the reception area.
Just before 7 a.m., Albert Wesker opened his office door and paused when he saw her waiting in the chair. Jill thought his glance down at his watch may have been for show but either way, he didn't smile, nor did he look outright pleased, but something told her that he was.
"Ms. Valentine." His voice wasn't groggy from a morning disuse, and she briefly wondered if he even slept. "Come in. We'll go over your paperwork and then I'll send you over to the course. Our trainer is expecting you."
"I'm interested to see your offer, and if it meets my standards, I'll do just that." Jill said as she stood.
"Does the gym bag at your feet not already denote your answer?" His voice hinted toward some form of amusement, but his features remained somewhat stoney. "Seems you've already decided."
Jill smiled wide enough for the both of them and she held back a laugh at the slight eyebrow raise she saw him give as a result. When he stepped back into the office, she followed, and sat down to hear his offer.
The pay and benefits were better than expected but her eyebrows had risen the highest when he told her they would be paying a company to pack up her home and ship her items out to Michigan. She managed to collect herself when he told her that a credit would also go to her deposit and first down payment for an apartment somewhere close by.
When her forms were signed and slid over the desk toward her new superior, Jill studied him for a few beats while he pushed the paperwork into a binder with her name on it. She was now the probationary officer for the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team. If she completed her supervised time, she would be the rear security on the team and the B & E Specialist.
Pride was entering her chest, and the excitement she had felt earlier in the morning seemed to grow outwards.
"Once you're done with the course, you will attend the police strategy classes from morning to afternoon. Classes end at 4 p.m. You'll have an hour to yourself before I expect you to be up here with me from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m." Captain Wesker closed the cabinet to his desk before he leaned back in his chair to watch her reaction.
The excitement stuttered around her nerves.
"Until 7? I thought dayshifts and training finished at 5?" Jill finally spoke.
"It does for the police force recruits but you're also going to familiarize yourself with the cases the S.T.A.R.S. help oversee alongside the precinct's detectives. You'll sit here with me and review the information; I want you sufficiently knowledgeable before I take you anywhere."
"Yes, sir," she replied automatically.
He watched her closely for a moment before he said, "Dismissed."
Jill had quietly grabbed her items and opened his door. Before departing she paused and turned toward him. He had begun to look into his computer screen, but his sharp blue eyes were glancing back up at her expectantly while she hovered.
"Sir," she wet her lips before her palm reclosed the slightly ajar door behind her. "About my behavior yesterday? I want to apologize for that. I will not make it a habit to be found in bars, nor become combative. That being said, thank you for this opportunity."
"Alcohol isn't banned for my squad on their off time; however, should any development in the cases occur, I would ask that you limit such activities while we remain on call." Captain Wesker's slow drawl filled the space between them. "As for your combativeness, insubordination will not be tolerated but I would hate for you to lose the spark I saw in your interview."
Jill's brows furrowed before she opened her mouth to respond.
"You're going to be late," Wesker spoke again before she could retort. "I'll see you at 5 p.m., Ms. Valentine."
"Yes, sir," she metered out slowly and finally pushed from his office. She was still chewing on his words when she ran into Chris Redfield out in the hall.
"Looks like you survived after all, Snake Eater," Chris called as he approached her. His appellation was a well-known nickname for the Green Berets. "Now that I can call you one of ours, I'm Chris Redfield." His hand stretched out to hers and Jill took it while noticing his boyish smile.
"Good to formally meet you, I'm Jill Valentine" she bid while she squeezed his hand. "Air meets ground forces for once."
"Never thought we'd have a girl on the team, but we'll see if you can keep up and survive your probation." Chris let go of her hand and glanced down at her gym bag. "You running the courses?"
"Indeed. I'm actually running late. I'll catch you on the next one." She stepped away to turn for the hall.
"Hey, can any of you Snake Eaters shoot?" Chris called out to her. His charm was easy-going and spoke to a camaraderie that Jill found herself missing from her military service.
"Didn't even know they gave pilots firearms. How's your vision, Redfield?" Jill threw out while she walked backwards.
"Shooting range. You and I. Sometime this week." Chris punctuated his short-driven challenge with a grin.
"I'll think about it," Jill hollered before she rounded the corner.
The laughter she heard felt like a victory for her first day, but she decided she would need to get through it before she made that decision.
With a quick stop at a local Japanese restaurant off of Ennerdale street, Jill had eaten her dinner while she sat in the precinct's library and looked over her required reading she had received from her classes earlier in the day.
Police strategy involved legal knowledge, procedure, and apprehension. Her courses would move at an accelerated rate in comparison to the other recruits, but the required knowledge would be the same. Her test would occur in three months instead of six.
Even if she hadn't promised Captain Wesker that she wouldn't be found in bars in her off-duty hours, she wouldn't be able to anyway; her late nights would take everything she had to swallow the book list in front of her.
The evening free hour found her quietly slurping up her noodles while she read on about Michigan state ordinances, local laws, and constitutional laws. When her watch beeped at 4:50 p.m., Jill tossed her books into her bag, threw out her trash, and headed up toward the office.
Chris wasn't in the room when she entered, but a burly man in a burgundy vest was looking through reports as she shut the door to the hall. Barry Burton was an older man with an aquiline nose, a sobering personality, and bright eyes. He wasn't as giving with his smiles, but he was welcoming enough before Jill had to excuse herself to meet the captain.
"Come in," Captain Wesker's even tone drew out from behind the door.
"Evening, captain," she greeted before closing his door and taking her seat.
Captain Wesker already had three large files set out for her neatly on the end of the desk where the two guest chairs sat.
"Heard you did well today," her captain said as a way of greeting. "It's not easy to impress Lieutenant Branagh."
"The physical aspect of the training will probably always come easiest to me, but it's the classes I think I'll need to be concerned about." Jill admitted when she pulled one of the files toward her.
"Not very studious, Ms. Valentine?" Captain Wesker's mocking tone drew her eyes over the paperwork.
Jill noted his face was free of the sunglasses when she narrowed her gaze at him slightly.
"Are you aware of some of the very odd laws that the state of Michigan has, sir?" She leaned in a little bit and continued in a conspiratorial whisper. "It's against the law to paint a sparrow with red coloring with the intention of selling them as parakeets." She lifted a finger to point for emphasis. "Rest assured, I will be looking for that on finals day."
Captain Wesker hummed in the back of his throat, but he didn't react further before his eyes turned back toward his computer. One of his elbows was bent on his arm rest, and well-manicured fingers were tucked under his chin while he read.
Settling back into her own chair, Jill dismissed his cool behavior before she crossed one leg over the other and began to look through the case file of the first victim.
The abstract report had been written up by someone with a steady hand. The first victim was a 19-year-old girl that had been found in the sewers on September 3rd. The second victim was a 21-year-old female and was found in the church she attended on September 17th. Both victims were determined to be a homicide and died in two very different manners of death.
Jill was holding the case file for the 21-year-old victim, Marcia Pennington, when her eyes caught on the crime scene photos gleaming from the right side of the page. She leaned in slightly to look at what had been captured.
"How did you know the victims were between the ages of 18 and 22?" Wesker's deep voice broke her concentration and made her jerk slightly.
With her eyes lifting to the sharp gaze of her captain, Jill lowered the file onto her lap while she thought.
"The highest percentage of all victims fall under the age of 18 in consideration to serial killers' selections—" Jill began to explain.
"We have not identified that this is a serial killer," Captain Wesker interrupted curtly.
"I understand, but the data is still relevant for victims." Jill wasn't ruffled by his stern tone. "In my time serving overseas, we came across many missing persons cases while operating through different local governments. When children were kidnapped, killed, or both, it was hard to contain the information due to the emotional response in the community." Jill glanced at the other stack of files on his desk that she hadn't touched yet.
"However, the phenomenon that occurs when the victim is an adult is seemingly a different response. You can control the information much easier with adult victims. When I looked up the case statuses for Raccoon City, Michigan, the information was still scrubbed, but your precinct files on the database had listed a new city curfew that also affected college ages. Unusual, but not something that would immediately grab your community's attention." Jill was watching his face carefully as she spoke.
"Go on," Captain Wesker drawled while he watched her with interest leaking into his handsome features.
"The reports for what I assume are…" Jill set her right hand on the other case files. "…The suspected wild animal cases have been listed freely with limited details of the coroner's report redacted around the injury list. Your community would simply suspect this was the cause for the curfew. Had the victims been children, I deduced you wouldn't be able to keep it under wraps like this."
"Correct," Captain Wesker nodded slightly. "Very good, Ms. Valentine."
Ignoring the string of pleasure that coursed through her, Jill cleared her throat before she glanced back down at the report still open in her lap.
"What determines a serial killer?" she asked.
"Typically, it's decided as a person who murders three or more people over more than a month with a certain period of time between the victims. While most authorities set a threshold of three murders, others extend it to four or lessen it to two," Captain Wesker explained before he sat forward and rested both of his elbows on the desk. The action had a single lock of hair falling from its gelled position and laying gently over his brow. "Our precinct would also need to determine common characteristics that the crimes were committed by the same person or persons."
Jill tore her eyes away from the hair that had fallen over his brow and looked back down at the files.
"Nothing here suggests that?" she pursued.
"I'll let you tell me that." His chair creaked when he leaned forward further and pulled the first victim's file toward himself.
With her eyes again zeroing in on the crime scene for the second victim, Marcia Pennington, time ticked away from the clock on Captain Wesker's wall while she continued to flip through the different pictures. Her eyes traced back and forth to the images and to the abstract notes the detective had made.
Marcia had been laid against the wall of her church. Bound by her hands over a hook in the wall above her head, a single gunshot wound to her forehead had been what the coroner determined her cause of death to be. However, whomever had killed her had taken the time to cut portions of her top and bottom lips away. Right over where her incisors were on her top and bottom tooth line, the killer had cut out triangle-shaped portions of the skin to reveal the teeth beneath but had left the middle portion of both lips intact. The result gave Marcia's face a feral look in death.
Tick, tick, tick, the clock above strummed away in her companionable silence with the captain. His keyboard strokes would sometimes punctuate his own focus in front of hers.
While she thought, Jill's eyes wandered around at the pictured floor beneath Marcia's curled up legs. The church's floor was made of tile and had caused a slight reflection to the camera's flash. The crime scene investigator had adjusted the flash in the other pictures, but Jill paused when she noticed the small object in the right-hand corner of the photo.
On the ground, nearly out of the picture, sat a tiny pinecone that was beneath a pew.
Jill jerked back in her seat and when Captain Wesker glanced at her, she paid no mind to his curious stare.
Jill was flipping to the back of the report to read the evidence list that the crime scene investigators had taken from the scene.
The pinecone was not listed.
It was not listed in the abstract notes for the crime scene either.
With her heart pounding, she flipped back to the photo and focused now on the church painting that was on the wall that Marcia was lying against.
"Captain Wesker, I need to use a computer." Jill uttered, standing up quickly.
"Computers are assigned to our officers. We haven't yet gotten you a desk with one set up." He answered easily. "What do you have?"
"Can I use yours?" she distractedly asked as she began to round his desk.
Captain Wesker was closing his database server application when Jill dropped the file onto the desk in front of him. The pictures slid out of their cellophane fasteners and trickled slowly onto his desk.
With a hand on his armrest, Jill kneeled down beside her captain and hovered her hands over the keyboard. Captain Wesker did not scoot back but instead she could see him studying her intently from his close proximity.
"Valentine—" Captain Wesker demanded impatiently.
"Sir, please—I'm thinking." Jill interrupted quickly before she began to type.
Searches began to populate on his screen for the painting, Ecclesiastes 1:4-7 NIV.
The painting was relatively new. Stemming from the New International Bible, sources has been retold as an accurate, readable, and clear, yet true to the original Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek of the Bible
The painting had been cut off in the crime scene photo, but Jill would recognize it anywhere; her father had one in his office for years. What she needed was the quote that often wasn't associated with the more updated versions.
"Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever. The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises. The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes, ever returning on its course. All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full. To the place the streams come from, there they return again."
"The cycle of the sun," Jill whispered. "Ever turning, no matter man's power under god, we answer to the sun."
"I'm losing my patience," Captain Wesker's warning sounded above her. Jill looked up at him and opened her mouth to explain.
One of her hands pointed to the picture before she said, "She was shot in the head in another location and then placed under the painting. The coroner determined that whoever did this, cut out the portions of her lips post-mortem."
"Correct. What does that have to do with this painting?" Captain Wesker asked, glancing over at where she was pointing.
"That pinecone, do you see it?" Jill breathed, readjusting her finger to point it at the corner of the photo on his desk. "What's that doing in the church? There's no mention of it being a falling decoration, a product of the crews moving in and out, or even listed as an item of interest. Doesn't that seem strange to you? An ordinary item but yet very out of place in a neatly kept place of worship, in the middle of the city where there aren't many trees, and at a murder scene."
Captain Wesker leaned forward and studied the pinecone with a tilt of his head. When he turned back to meet her gaze, his face was inches from hers now.
"Theory?" he asked her, clearly interested now.
Jill adjusted her hand on the chair without thought while she rose taller on her knees and leaned over his desk.
"The pinecone, do you know what that symbolizes? In ancient civilizations worldwide, the pinecone was everywhere: in architecture, sculpture, and art." Jill's voice picked up in speed in her excitement while she watched his gaze transform into curiosity before her. "A French philosopher in the 17th century became obsessed with the old Greek argument about the 'Seat of the Soul' in the body. Society used to believe it was in the heart until he proposed his theory about the pineal gland."
Jill glanced back at the photo and tapped the woman's forehead in the picture. Right over where the bullet wound resided.
"The pineal gland is considered to be our biological 'third eye' or rather, the epicenter of enlightenment and its sacred symbol. Throughout history, all over the world, that consideration has been represented by the image of the pinecone. A pinecone represents the third eye, the pineal gland, and the 'Seat of the Soul'." Jill paused, her eyes darting back and forth between his. "The pineal gland is also in the brain."
"Alright, Valentine," Captain Wesker's voice had dropped lower while he watched her. "You have my attention. Can you link her lips?"
"That theory is a little more farfetched." Jill provided while she bit the inside of her cheek and steadied herself on her knees.
"I'd…" Captain Wesker glanced down at his lap and Jill followed his gaze.
She realized then that she had propped her hand on his thigh when she shifted up on her knees to point at the pictures. She ripped it away before she uttered a quick apology.
Captain Wesker was watching her carefully before he continued smoothly, "I'd still like to hear it."
"Staying in the realm of mythology and where this theory originates from," Jill found her voice again and focused on his gaze once more. "There's only one woman in mythology who connects the pinecone and the symbolism of the mouth. Look at the way Marcia's lips were cut; you can see all of her incisor teeth. Does that resemble something to you?"
Captain Wesker was looking away from her again and down at the picture. He studied it for a while before he shook his head.
"It gives her the impression of having tusks. Tusks like a pig." Jill said softly before the ticking clock echoed between them like a heartbeat.
"What this looks like to me, sir, is a depiction of the goddess Circe being punished. Circe who was guilty of luring men in with her body and turned them into pigs with her staff that held a pinecone. Circe who was also the daughter of the sun god, Helios." Jill was gesturing to the painting that depicted the sun's power over man on his computer screen.
Captain Wesker's shoulder bumped hers when he rose to his feet. Jill was scrambling to climb to hers when his hand wrapped gently around her bicep and assisted her to stand. He was still silent for a moment when she finally made it to her feet.
"You figured that out by looking at one picture?" His voice was low in the quiet atmosphere of his small office.
Tick, tick, tick.
"I read a lot about Greek mythology," Jill said as a way of explanation.
"Studious after all," he commented dryly. His hand squeezed her arm before he finally let go.
She couldn't stop the satisfied quirk of her lips at his jest.
"Let's see if this leads anywhere then," he cocked his head at her. "Should I go see the crime scene or the body?"
"The body," Jill said, reaching down then to collect the file that had spilled on his desk. "What about the first case?"
"I'll have you look over that upon return," he answered before he jutted his chin and indicated for her to step back. "But bring Marcia's file."
They were both still crowded behind his desk.
Jill stepped away and pulled Marcia's file fully into her arms. She was still buzzing with high energy when Captain Wesker was pulling a black overcoat across his shoulders.
"Did you bring a jacket?" he interrupted her thoughts.
"What?" she answered intelligently.
"You're coming with me, Valentine," he had that amused look in his eye again and the corner of his mouth was lifting in that smirk she had seen earlier. Jill felt her stomach flutter before she crushed the feeling downwards.
"I didn't bring a jacket, no," she admitted before she watched him pull a thin sweatshirt from the tall, freestanding coat rack in the corner of his office. He tossed it to her, and Jill held up the garment with S.T.A.R.S Raccoon City Police Dept. written in a circle around their emblem.
"Put that on, and let's go." he commanded simply.
While she pulled the sweatshirt over her head, she could hear him approaching the door to the outer office beside her.
"And Valentine…" his velvet like voice rumbled from beyond the curtain of fabric she finally popped her head through. His sweatshirt came nearly down to her knees on her frame.
Jill blinked up at him with her hair spilling forth from behind her ears when she pulled the file back into her arms.
"Good work," he praised once more.
"Thank you, sir," she breathed with warmth flushing the skin of her neck.
She watched his eyes drift downwards and she thought he may have seen the bodily reaction. The pull of his smirk let her know he definitely had.
Jill watched him open the door, place those odd sunglasses on his face, and gesture for her to walk out first. She did so and they continued at a steady pace down toward the parking garage.
Much like she had with Chris earlier, Jill Valentine kept a secret smile on her lips while she walked in front of her superior with determined strides.
Even though the night wasn't technically over, she thought she may be able to say her first day went well after all.